But anxious cares already seiz'd the queen:\nShe fed within her veins a flame unseen;\nThe hero's valor, acts, and birth inspire\nHer soul with love, and fan the secret fire.\nHis words, his looks, imprinted in her heart,\nImprove the passion, and increase the smart.\nNow, when the purple morn had chas'd away\nThe dewy shadows, and restor'd the day,\nHer sister first with early care she sought,\nAnd thus in mournful accents eas'd her thought:<\/p>\n
\"My dearest Anna, what new dreams affright\nMy lab'ring soul! what visions of the night\nDisturb my quiet, and distract my breast\nWith strange ideas of our Trojan guest!\nHis worth, his actions, and majestic air,\nA man descended from the gods declare.\nFear ever argues a degenerate kind;\nHis birth is well asserted by his mind.\nThen, what he suffer'd, when by Fate betray'd!\nWhat brave attempts for falling Troy he made!\nSuch were his looks, so gracefully he spoke,\nThat, were I not resolv'd against the yoke\nOf hapless marriage, never to be curst\nWith second love, so fatal was my first,\nTo this one error I might yield again;\nFor, since Sichaeus was untimely slain,\nThis only man is able to subvert\nThe fix'd foundations of my stubborn heart.\nAnd, to confess my frailty, to my shame,\nSomewhat I find within, if not the same,\nToo like the sparkles of my former flame.\nBut first let yawning earth a passage rend,\nAnd let me thro' the dark abyss descend;\nFirst let avenging Jove, with flames from high,\nDrive down this body to the nether sky,\nCondemn'd with ghosts in endless night to lie,\nBefore I break the plighted faith I gave!\nNo! he who had my vows shall ever have;\nFor, whom I lov'd on earth, I worship in the grave.\"<\/p>\n
She said: the tears ran gushing from her eyes,\nAnd stopp'd her speech. Her sister thus replies:\n\"O dearer than the vital air I breathe,\nWill you to grief your blooming years bequeath,\nCondemn'd to waste in woes your lonely life,\nWithout the joys of mother or of wife?\nThink you these tears, this pompous train of woe,\nAre known or valued by the ghosts below?\nI grant that, while your sorrows yet were green,\nIt well became a woman, and a queen,\nThe vows of Tyrian princes to neglect,\nTo scorn Hyarbas, and his love reject,\nWith all the Libyan lords of mighty name;\nBut will you fight against a pleasing flame!\nThis little spot of land, which Heav'n bestows,\nOn ev'ry side is hemm'd with warlike foes;\nGaetulian cities here are spread around,\nAnd fierce Numidians there your frontiers bound;\nHere lies a barren waste of thirsty land,\nAnd there the Syrtes raise the moving sand;\nBarcaean troops besiege the narrow shore,\nAnd from the sea Pygmalion threatens more.\nPropitious Heav'n, and gracious Juno, lead\nThis wand'ring navy to your needful aid:\nHow will your empire spread, your city rise,\nFrom such a union, and with such allies?\nImplore the favor of the pow'rs above,\nAnd leave the conduct of the rest to love.\nContinue still your hospitable way,\nAnd still invent occasions of their stay,\nTill storms and winter winds shall cease to threat,\nAnd planks and oars repair their shatter'd fleet.\"<\/p>\n
These words, which from a friend and sister came,\nWith ease resolv'd the scruples of her fame,\nAnd added fury to the kindled flame.\nInspir'd with hope, the project they pursue;\nOn ev'ry altar sacrifice renew:\nA chosen ewe of two years old they pay\nTo Ceres, Bacchus, and the God of Day;\nPreferring Juno's pow'r, for Juno ties\nThe nuptial knot and makes the marriage joys.\nThe beauteous queen before her altar stands,\nAnd holds the golden goblet in her hands.\nA milk-white heifer she with flow'rs adorns,\nAnd pours the ruddy wine betwixt her horns;\nAnd, while the priests with pray'r the gods invoke,\nShe feeds their altars with Sabaean smoke,\nWith hourly care the sacrifice renews,\nAnd anxiously the panting entrails views.\nWhat priestly rites, alas! what pious art,\nWhat vows avail to cure a bleeding heart!\nA gentle fire she feeds within her veins,\nWhere the soft god secure in silence reigns.<\/p>\n
Sick with desire, and seeking him she loves,\nFrom street to street the raving Dido roves.\nSo when the watchful shepherd, from the blind,\nWounds with a random shaft the careless hind,\nDistracted with her pain she flies the woods,\nBounds o'er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods,\nWith fruitless care; for still the fatal dart\nSticks in her side, and rankles in her heart.\nAnd now she leads the Trojan chief along\nThe lofty walls, amidst the busy throng;\nDisplays her Tyrian wealth, and rising town,\nWhich love, without his labor, makes his own.\nThis pomp she shows, to tempt her wand'ring guest;\nHer falt'ring tongue forbids to speak the rest.\nWhen day declines, and feasts renew the night,\nStill on his face she feeds her famish'd sight;\nShe longs again to hear the prince relate\nHis own adventures and the Trojan fate.\nHe tells it o'er and o'er; but still in vain,\nFor still she begs to hear it once again.\nThe hearer on the speaker's mouth depends,\nAnd thus the tragic story never ends.<\/p>\n
Then, when they part, when Phoebe's paler light\nWithdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite,\nShe last remains, when ev'ry guest is gone,\nSits on the bed he press'd, and sighs alone;\nAbsent, her absent hero sees and hears;\nOr in her bosom young Ascanius bears,\nAnd seeks the father's image in the child,\nIf love by likeness might be so beguil'd.<\/p>\n
Meantime the rising tow'rs are at a stand;\nNo labors exercise the youthful band,\nNor use of arts, nor toils of arms they know;\nThe mole is left unfinish'd to the foe;\nThe mounds, the works, the walls, neglected lie,\nShort of their promis'd heighth, that seem'd to threat the sky,<\/p>\n
But when imperial Juno, from above,\nSaw Dido fetter'd in the chains of love,\nHot with the venom which her veins inflam'd,\nAnd by no sense of shame to be reclaim'd,\nWith soothing words to Venus she begun:\n\"High praises, endless honors, you have won,\nAnd mighty trophies, with your worthy son!\nTwo gods a silly woman have undone!\nNor am I ignorant, you both suspect\nThis rising city, which my hands erect:\nBut shall celestial discord never cease?\n'T is better ended in a lasting peace.\nYou stand possess'd of all your soul desir'd:\nPoor Dido with consuming love is fir'd.\nYour Trojan with my Tyrian let us join;\nSo Dido shall be yours, Aeneas mine:\nOne common kingdom, one united line.\nEliza shall a Dardan lord obey,\nAnd lofty Carthage for a dow'r convey.\"\nThen Venus, who her hidden fraud descried,\nWhich would the scepter of the world misguide\nTo Libyan shores, thus artfully replied:\n\"Who, but a fool, would wars with Juno choose,\nAnd such alliance and such gifts refuse,\nIf Fortune with our joint desires comply?\nThe doubt is all from Jove and destiny;\nLest he forbid, with absolute command,\nTo mix the people in one common land-\nOr will the Trojan and the Tyrian line\nIn lasting leagues and sure succession join?\nBut you, the partner of his bed and throne,\nMay move his mind; my wishes are your own.\"<\/p>\n
\"Mine,\" said imperial Juno, \"be the care;\nTime urges, now, to perfect this affair:\nAttend my counsel, and the secret share.\nWhen next the Sun his rising light displays,\nAnd gilds the world below with purple rays,\nThe queen, Aeneas, and the Tyrian court\nShall to the shady woods, for sylvan game, resort.\nThere, while the huntsmen pitch their toils around,\nAnd cheerful horns from side to side resound,\nA pitchy cloud shall cover all the plain\nWith hail, and thunder, and tempestuous rain;\nThe fearful train shall take their speedy flight,\nDispers'd, and all involv'd in gloomy night;\nOne cave a grateful shelter shall afford\nTo the fair princess and the Trojan lord.\nI will myself the bridal bed prepare,\nIf you, to bless the nuptials, will be there:\nSo shall their loves be crown'd with due delights,\nAnd Hymen shall be present at the rites.\"\nThe Queen of Love consents, and closely smiles\nAt her vain project, and discover'd wiles.<\/p>\n
The rosy morn was risen from the main,\nAnd horns and hounds awake the princely train:\nThey issue early thro' the city gate,\nWhere the more wakeful huntsmen ready wait,\nWith nets, and toils, and darts, beside the force\nOf Spartan dogs, and swift Massylian horse.\nThe Tyrian peers and officers of state\nFor the slow queen in antechambers wait;\nHer lofty courser, in the court below,\nWho his majestic rider seems to know,\nProud of his purple trappings, paws the ground,\nAnd champs the golden bit, and spreads the foam around.\nThe queen at length appears; on either hand\nThe brawny guards in martial order stand.\nA flow'r'd simar with golden fringe she wore,\nAnd at her back a golden quiver bore;\nHer flowing hair a golden caul restrains,\nA golden clasp the Tyrian robe sustains.\nThen young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,\nLeads on the Trojan youth to view the chase.\nBut far above the rest in beauty shines\nThe great Aeneas, the troop he joins;\nLike fair Apollo, when he leaves the frost\nOf wint'ry Xanthus, and the Lycian coast,\nWhen to his native Delos he resorts,\nOrdains the dances, and renews the sports;\nWhere painted Scythians, mix'd with Cretan bands,\nBefore the joyful altars join their hands:\nHimself, on Cynthus walking, sees below\nThe merry madness of the sacred show.\nGreen wreaths of bays his length of hair inclose;\nA golden fillet binds his awful brows;\nHis quiver sounds: not less the prince is seen\nIn manly presence, or in lofty mien.<\/p>\n
Now had they reach'd the hills, and storm'd the seat\nOf salvage beasts, in dens, their last retreat.\nThe cry pursues the mountain goats: they bound\nFrom rock to rock, and keep the craggy ground;\nQuite otherwise the stags, a trembling train,\nIn herds unsingled, scour the dusty plain,\nAnd a long chase in open view maintain.\nThe glad Ascanius, as his courser guides,\nSpurs thro' the vale, and these and those outrides.\nHis horse's flanks and sides are forc'd to feel\nThe clanking lash, and goring of the steel.\nImpatiently he views the feeble prey,\nWishing some nobler beast to cross his way,\nAnd rather would the tusky boar attend,\nOr see the tawny lion downward bend.<\/p>\n
Meantime, the gath'ring clouds obscure the skies:\nFrom pole to pole the forky lightning flies;\nThe rattling thunders roll; and Juno pours\nA wintry deluge down, and sounding show'rs.\nThe company, dispers'd, to converts ride,\nAnd seek the homely cots, or mountain's hollow side.\nThe rapid rains, descending from the hills,\nTo rolling torrents raise the creeping rills.\nThe queen and prince, as love or fortune guides,\nOne common cavern in her bosom hides.\nThen first the trembling earth the signal gave,\nAnd flashing fires enlighten all the cave;\nHell from below, and Juno from above,\nAnd howling nymphs, were conscious of their love.\nFrom this ill-omen'd hour in time arose\nDebate and death, and all succeeding woes.<\/p>\n
The queen, whom sense of honor could not move,\nNo longer made a secret of her love,\nBut call'd it marriage, by that specious name\nTo veil the crime and sanctify the shame.<\/p>\n
The loud report thro' Libyan cities goes.\nFame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows:\nSwift from the first; and ev'ry moment brings\nNew vigor to her flights, new pinions to her wings.\nSoon grows the pigmy to gigantic size;\nHer feet on earth, her forehead in the skies.\nInrag'd against the gods, revengeful Earth\nProduc'd her last of the Titanian birth.\nSwift is her walk, more swift her winged haste:\nA monstrous phantom, horrible and vast.\nAs many plumes as raise her lofty flight,\nSo many piercing eyes inlarge her sight;\nMillions of opening mouths to Fame belong,\nAnd ev'ry mouth is furnish'd with a tongue,\nAnd round with list'ning ears the flying plague is hung.\nShe fills the peaceful universe with cries;\nNo slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes;\nBy day, from lofty tow'rs her head she shews,\nAnd spreads thro' trembling crowds disastrous news;\nWith court informers haunts, and royal spies;\nThings done relates, not done she feigns, and mingles truth with lies.<\/p>\n
Talk is her business, and her chief delight\nTo tell of prodigies and cause affright.\nShe fills the people's ears with Dido's name,\nWho, lost to honor and the sense of shame,\nAdmits into her throne and nuptial bed\nA wand'ring guest, who from his country fled:\nWhole days with him she passes in delights,\nAnd wastes in luxury long winter nights,\nForgetful of her fame and royal trust,\nDissolv'd in ease, abandon'd to her lust.<\/p>\n
The goddess widely spreads the loud report,\nAnd flies at length to King Hyarba's court.\nWhen first possess'd with this unwelcome news\nWhom did he not of men and gods accuse?\nThis prince, from ravish'd Garamantis born,\nA hundred temples did with spoils adorn,\nIn Ammon's honor, his celestial sire;\nA hundred altars fed with wakeful fire;\nAnd, thro' his vast dominions, priests ordain'd,\nWhose watchful care these holy rites maintain'd.\nThe gates and columns were with garlands crown'd,\nAnd blood of victim beasts enrich'd the ground.<\/p>\n
He, when he heard a fugitive could move\nThe Tyrian princess, who disdain'd his love,\nHis breast with fury burn'd, his eyes with fire,\nMad with despair, impatient with desire;\nThen on the sacred altars pouring wine,\nHe thus with pray'rs implor'd his sire divine:\n\"Great Jove! propitious to the Moorish race,\nWho feast on painted beds, with off'rings grace\nThy temples, and adore thy pow'r divine\nWith blood of victims, and with sparkling wine,\nSeest thou not this? or do we fear in vain\nThy boasted thunder, and thy thoughtless reign?\nDo thy broad hands the forky lightnings lance?\nThine are the bolts, or the blind work of chance?\nA wand'ring woman builds, within our state,\nA little town, bought at an easy rate;\nShe pays me homage, and my grants allow\nA narrow space of Libyan lands to plow;\nYet, scorning me, by passion blindly led,\nAdmits a banish'd Trojan to her bed!\nAnd now this other Paris, with his train\nOf conquer'd cowards, must in Afric reign!\n(Whom, what they are, their looks and garb confess,\nTheir locks with oil perfum'd, their Lydian dress.)\nHe takes the spoil, enjoys the princely dame;\nAnd I, rejected I, adore an empty name.\"<\/p>\n
His vows, in haughty terms, he thus preferr'd,\nAnd held his altar's horns. The mighty Thund'rer heard;\nThen cast his eyes on Carthage, where he found\nThe lustful pair in lawless pleasure drown'd,\nLost in their loves, insensible of shame,\nAnd both forgetful of their better fame.\nHe calls Cyllenius, and the god attends,\nBy whom his menacing command he sends:\n\"Go, mount the western winds, and cleave the sky;\nThen, with a swift descent, to Carthage fly:\nThere find the Trojan chief, who wastes his days\nIn slothful riot and inglorious ease,\nNor minds the future city, giv'n by fate.\nTo him this message from my mouth relate:\n'Not so fair Venus hop'd, when twice she won\nThy life with pray'rs, nor promis'd such a son.\nHers was a hero, destin'd to command\nA martial race, and rule the Latian land,\nWho should his ancient line from Teucer draw,\nAnd on the conquer'd world impose the law.'\nIf glory cannot move a mind so mean,\nNor future praise from fading pleasure wean,\nYet why should he defraud his son of fame,\nAnd grudge the Romans their immortal name!\nWhat are his vain designs! what hopes he more\nFrom his long ling'ring on a hostile shore,\nRegardless to redeem his honor lost,\nAnd for his race to gain th' Ausonian coast!\nBid him with speed the Tyrian court forsake;\nWith this command the slumb'ring warrior wake.\"<\/p>\n
Hermes obeys; with golden pinions binds\nHis flying feet, and mounts the western winds:\nAnd, whether o'er the seas or earth he flies,\nWith rapid force they bear him down the skies.\nBut first he grasps within his awful hand\nThe mark of sov'reign pow'r, his magic wand;\nWith this he draws the ghosts from hollow graves;\nWith this he drives them down the Stygian waves;\nWith this he seals in sleep the wakeful sight,\nAnd eyes, tho' clos'd in death, restores to light.\nThus arm'd, the god begins his airy race,\nAnd drives the racking clouds along the liquid space;\nNow sees the tops of Atlas, as he flies,\nWhose brawny back supports the starry skies;\nAtlas, whose head, with piny forests crown'd,\nIs beaten by the winds, with foggy vapors bound.\nSnows hide his shoulders; from beneath his chin\nThe founts of rolling streams their race begin;\nA beard of ice on his large breast depends.\nHere, pois'd upon his wings, the god descends:\nThen, rested thus, he from the tow'ring height\nPlung'd downward, with precipitated flight,\nLights on the seas, and skims along the flood.\nAs waterfowl, who seek their fishy food,\nLess, and yet less, to distant prospect show;\nBy turns they dance aloft, and dive below:\nLike these, the steerage of his wings he plies,\nAnd near the surface of the water flies,\nTill, having pass'd the seas, and cross'd the sands,\nHe clos'd his wings, and stoop'd on Libyan lands:\nWhere shepherds once were hous'd in homely sheds,\nNow tow'rs within the clouds advance their heads.\nArriving there, he found the Trojan prince\nNew ramparts raising for the town's defense.\nA purple scarf, with gold embroider'd o'er,\n(Queen Dido's gift,) about his waist he wore;\nA sword, with glitt'ring gems diversified,\nFor ornament, not use, hung idly by his side.<\/p>\n
Then thus, with winged words, the god began,\nResuming his own shape: \"Degenerate man,\nThou woman's property, what mak'st thou here,\nThese foreign walls and Tyrian tow'rs to rear,\nForgetful of thy own? All-pow'rful Jove,\nWho sways the world below and heav'n above,\nHas sent me down with this severe command:\nWhat means thy ling'ring in the Libyan land?\nIf glory cannot move a mind so mean,\nNor future praise from flitting pleasure wean,\nRegard the fortunes of thy rising heir:\nThe promis'd crown let young Ascanius wear,\nTo whom th' Ausonian scepter, and the state\nOf Rome's imperial name is ow'd by fate.\"\nSo spoke the god; and, speaking, took his flight,\nInvolv'd in clouds, and vanish'd out of sight.<\/p>\n
The pious prince was seiz'd with sudden fear;\nMute was his tongue, and upright stood his hair.\nRevolving in his mind the stern command,\nHe longs to fly, and loathes the charming land.\nWhat should he say? or how should he begin?\nWhat course, alas! remains to steer between\nTh' offended lover and the pow'rful queen?\nThis way and that he turns his anxious mind,\nAnd all expedients tries, and none can find.\nFix'd on the deed, but doubtful of the means,\nAfter long thought, to this advice he leans:\nThree chiefs he calls, commands them to repair\nThe fleet, and ship their men with silent care;\nSome plausible pretense he bids them find,\nTo color what in secret he design'd.\nHimself, meantime, the softest hours would choose,\nBefore the love-sick lady heard the news;\nAnd move her tender mind, by slow degrees,\nTo suffer what the sov'reign pow'r decrees:\nJove will inspire him, when, and what to say.\nThey hear with pleasure, and with haste obey.<\/p>\n
But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise:\n(What arts can blind a jealous woman's eyes!)\nShe was the first to find the secret fraud,\nBefore the fatal news was blaz'd abroad.\nLove the first motions of the lover hears,\nQuick to presage, and ev'n in safety fears.\nNor impious Fame was wanting to report\nThe ships repair'd, the Trojans' thick resort,\nAnd purpose to forsake the Tyrian court.\nFrantic with fear, impatient of the wound,\nAnd impotent of mind, she roves the city round.\nLess wild the Bacchanalian dames appear,\nWhen, from afar, their nightly god they hear,\nAnd howl about the hills, and shake the wreathy spear.\nAt length she finds the dear perfidious man;\nPrevents his form'd excuse, and thus began:\n\"Base and ungrateful! could you hope to fly,\nAnd undiscover'd scape a lover's eye?\nNor could my kindness your compassion move.\nNor plighted vows, nor dearer bands of love?\nOr is the death of a despairing queen\nNot worth preventing, tho' too well foreseen?\nEv'n when the wintry winds command your stay,\nYou dare the tempests, and defy the sea.\nFalse as you are, suppose you were not bound\nTo lands unknown, and foreign coasts to sound;\nWere Troy restor'd, and Priam's happy reign,\nNow durst you tempt, for Troy, the raging main?\nSee whom you fly! am I the foe you shun?\nNow, by those holy vows, so late begun,\nBy this right hand, (since I have nothing more\nTo challenge, but the faith you gave before;)\nI beg you by these tears too truly shed,\nBy the new pleasures of our nuptial bed;\nIf ever Dido, when you most were kind,\nWere pleasing in your eyes, or touch'd your mind;\nBy these my pray'rs, if pray'rs may yet have place,\nPity the fortunes of a falling race.\nFor you I have provok'd a tyrant's hate,\nIncens'd the Libyan and the Tyrian state;\nFor you alone I suffer in my fame,\nBereft of honor, and expos'd to shame.\nWhom have I now to trust, ungrateful guest?\n(That only name remains of all the rest!)\nWhat have I left? or whither can I fly?\nMust I attend Pygmalion's cruelty,\nOr till Hyarba shall in triumph lead\nA queen that proudly scorn'd his proffer'd bed?\nHad you deferr'd, at least, your hasty flight,\nAnd left behind some pledge of our delight,\nSome babe to bless the mother's mournful sight,\nSome young Aeneas, to supply your place,\nWhose features might express his father's face;\nI should not then complain to live bereft\nOf all my husband, or be wholly left.\"<\/p>\n
Here paus'd the queen. Unmov'd he holds his eyes,\nBy Jove's command; nor suffer'd love to rise,\nTho' heaving in his heart; and thus at length replies:\n\"Fair queen, you never can enough repeat\nYour boundless favors, or I own my debt;\nNor can my mind forget Eliza's name,\nWhile vital breath inspires this mortal frame.\nThis only let me speak in my defense:\nI never hop'd a secret flight from hence,\nMuch less pretended to the lawful claim\nOf sacred nuptials, or a husband's name.\nFor, if indulgent Heav'n would leave me free,\nAnd not submit my life to fate's decree,\nMy choice would lead me to the Trojan shore,\nThose relics to review, their dust adore,\nAnd Priam's ruin'd palace to restore.\nBut now the Delphian oracle commands,\nAnd fate invites me to the Latian lands.\nThat is the promis'd place to which I steer,\nAnd all my vows are terminated there.\nIf you, a Tyrian, and a stranger born,\nWith walls and tow'rs a Libyan town adorn,\nWhy may not we- like you, a foreign race-\nLike you, seek shelter in a foreign place?\nAs often as the night obscures the skies\nWith humid shades, or twinkling stars arise,\nAnchises' angry ghost in dreams appears,\nChides my delay, and fills my soul with fears;\nAnd young Ascanius justly may complain\nOf his defrauded and destin'd reign.\nEv'n now the herald of the gods appear'd:\nWaking I saw him, and his message heard.\nFrom Jove he came commission'd, heav'nly bright\nWith radiant beams, and manifest to sight\n(The sender and the sent I both attest)\nThese walls he enter'd, and those words express'd.\nFair queen, oppose not what the gods command;\nForc'd by my fate, I leave your happy land.\"<\/p>\n
Thus while he spoke, already she began,\nWith sparkling eyes, to view the guilty man;\nFrom head to foot survey'd his person o'er,\nNor longer these outrageous threats forebore:\n\"False as thou art, and, more than false, forsworn!\nNot sprung from noble blood, nor goddess-born,\nBut hewn from harden'd entrails of a rock!\nAnd rough Hyrcanian tigers gave thee suck!\nWhy should I fawn? what have I worse to fear?\nDid he once look, or lent a list'ning ear,\nSigh'd when I sobb'd, or shed one kindly tear?-\nAll symptoms of a base ungrateful mind,\nSo foul, that, which is worse, 'tis hard to find.\nOf man's injustice why should I complain?\nThe gods, and Jove himself, behold in vain\nTriumphant treason; yet no thunder flies,\nNor Juno views my wrongs with equal eyes;\nFaithless is earth, and faithless are the skies!\nJustice is fled, and Truth is now no more!\nI sav'd the shipwrack'd exile on my shore;\nWith needful food his hungry Trojans fed;\nI took the traitor to my throne and bed:\nFool that I was- 't is little to repeat\nThe rest- I stor'd and rigg'd his ruin'd fleet.\nI rave, I rave! A god's command he pleads,\nAnd makes Heav'n accessary to his deeds.\nNow Lycian lots, and now the Delian god,\nNow Hermes is employ'd from Jove's abode,\nTo warn him hence; as if the peaceful state\nOf heav'nly pow'rs were touch'd with human fate!\nBut go! thy flight no longer I detain-\nGo seek thy promis'd kingdom thro' the main!\nYet, if the heav'ns will hear my pious vow,\nThe faithless waves, not half so false as thou,\nOr secret sands, shall sepulchers afford\nTo thy proud vessels, and their perjur'd lord.\nThen shalt thou call on injur'd Dido's name:\nDido shall come in a black sulph'ry flame,\nWhen death has once dissolv'd her mortal frame;\nShall smile to see the traitor vainly weep:\nHer angry ghost, arising from the deep,\nShall haunt thee waking, and disturb thy sleep.\nAt least my shade thy punishment shall know,\nAnd Fame shall spread the pleasing news below.\"<\/p>\n
Abruptly here she stops; then turns away\nHer loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day.\nAmaz'd he stood, revolving in his mind\nWhat speech to frame, and what excuse to find.\nHer fearful maids their fainting mistress led,\nAnd softly laid her on her ivory bed.<\/p>\n
But good Aeneas, tho' he much desir'd\nTo give that pity which her grief requir'd;\nTho' much he mourn'd, and labor'd with his love,\nResolv'd at length, obeys the will of Jove;\nReviews his forces: they with early care\nUnmoor their vessels, and for sea prepare.\nThe fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride,\nAnd well-calk'd galleys in the harbor ride.\nThen oaks for oars they fell'd; or, as they stood,\nOf its green arms despoil'd the growing wood,\nStudious of flight. The beach is cover'd o'er\nWith Trojan bands, that blacken all the shore:\nOn ev'ry side are seen, descending down,\nThick swarms of soldiers, loaden from the town.\nThus, in battalia, march embodied ants,\nFearful of winter, and of future wants,\nT' invade the corn, and to their cells convey\nThe plunder'd forage of their yellow prey.\nThe sable troops, along the narrow tracks,\nScarce bear the weighty burthen on their backs:\nSome set their shoulders to the pond'rous grain;\nSome guard the spoil; some lash the lagging train;\nAll ply their sev'ral tasks, and equal toil sustain.<\/p>\n
What pangs the tender breast of Dido tore,\nWhen, from the tow'r, she saw the cover'd shore,\nAnd heard the shouts of sailors from afar,\nMix'd with the murmurs of the wat'ry war!\nAll-pow'rful Love! what changes canst thou cause\nIn human hearts, subjected to thy laws!\nOnce more her haughty soul the tyrant bends:\nTo pray'rs and mean submissions she descends.\nNo female arts or aids she left untried,\nNor counsels unexplor'd, before she died.\n\"Look, Anna! look! the Trojans crowd to sea;\nThey spread their canvas, and their anchors weigh.\nThe shouting crew their ships with garlands bind,\nInvoke the sea gods, and invite the wind.\nCould I have thought this threat'ning blow so near,\nMy tender soul had been forewarn'd to bear.\nBut do not you my last request deny;\nWith yon perfidious man your int'rest try,\nAnd bring me news, if I must live or die.\nYou are his fav'rite; you alone can find\nThe dark recesses of his inmost mind:\nIn all his trusted secrets you have part,\nAnd know the soft approaches to his heart.\nHaste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe;\nTell him, I did not with the Grecians go,\nNor did my fleet against his friends employ,\nNor swore the ruin of unhappy Troy,\nNor mov'd with hands profane his father's dust:\nWhy should he then reject a suit so just!\nWhom does he shun, and whither would he fly!\nCan he this last, this only pray'r deny!\nLet him at least his dang'rous flight delay,\nWait better winds, and hope a calmer sea.\nThe nuptials he disclaims I urge no more:\nLet him pursue the promis'd Latian shore.\nA short delay is all I ask him now;\nA pause of grief, an interval from woe,\nTill my soft soul be temper'd to sustain\nAccustom'd sorrows, and inur'd to pain.\nIf you in pity grant this one request,\nMy death shall glut the hatred of his breast.\"\nThis mournful message pious Anna bears,\nAnd seconds with her own her sister's tears:\nBut all her arts are still employ'd in vain;\nAgain she comes, and is refus'd again.\nHis harden'd heart nor pray'rs nor threat'nings move;\nFate, and the god, had stopp'd his ears to love.<\/p>\n
As, when the winds their airy quarrel try,\nJustling from ev'ry quarter of the sky,\nThis way and that the mountain oak they bend,\nHis boughs they shatter, and his branches rend;\nWith leaves and falling mast they spread the ground;\nThe hollow valleys echo to the sound:\nUnmov'd, the royal plant their fury mocks,\nOr, shaken, clings more closely to the rocks;\nFar as he shoots his tow'ring head on high,\nSo deep in earth his fix'd foundations lie.\nNo less a storm the Trojan hero bears;\nThick messages and loud complaints he hears,\nAnd bandied words, still beating on his ears.\nSighs, groans, and tears proclaim his inward pains;\nBut the firm purpose of his heart remains.<\/p>\n
The wretched queen, pursued by cruel fate,\nBegins at length the light of heav'n to hate,\nAnd loathes to live. Then dire portents she sees,\nTo hasten on the death her soul decrees:\nStrange to relate! for when, before the shrine,\nShe pours in sacrifice the purple wine,\nThe purple wine is turn'd to putrid blood,\nAnd the white offer'd milk converts to mud.\nThis dire presage, to her alone reveal'd,\nFrom all, and ev'n her sister, she conceal'd.\nA marble temple stood within the grove,\nSacred to death, and to her murther'd love;\nThat honor'd chapel she had hung around\nWith snowy fleeces, and with garlands crown'd:\nOft, when she visited this lonely dome,\nStrange voices issued from her husband's tomb;\nShe thought she heard him summon her away,\nInvite her to his grave, and chide her stay.\nHourly 't is heard, when with a boding note\nThe solitary screech owl strains her throat,\nAnd, on a chimney's top, or turret's height,\nWith songs obscene disturbs the silence of the night.\nBesides, old prophecies augment her fears;\nAnd stern Aeneas in her dreams appears,\nDisdainful as by day: she seems, alone,\nTo wander in her sleep, thro' ways unknown,\nGuideless and dark; or, in a desart plain,\nTo seek her subjects, and to seek in vain:\nLike Pentheus, when, distracted with his fear,\nHe saw two suns, and double Thebes, appear;\nOr mad Orestes, when his mother's ghost\nFull in his face infernal torches toss'd,\nAnd shook her snaky locks: he shuns the sight,\nFlies o'er the stage, surpris'd with mortal fright;\nThe Furies guard the door and intercept his flight.<\/p>\n
Now, sinking underneath a load of grief,\nFrom death alone she seeks her last relief;\nThe time and means resolv'd within her breast,\nShe to her mournful sister thus address'd\n(Dissembling hope, her cloudy front she clears,\nAnd a false vigor in her eyes appears):\n\"Rejoice!\" she said. \"Instructed from above,\nMy lover I shall gain, or lose my love.\nNigh rising Atlas, next the falling sun,\nLong tracts of Ethiopian climates run:\nThere a Massylian priestess I have found,\nHonor'd for age, for magic arts renown'd:\nTh' Hesperian temple was her trusted care;\n'T was she supplied the wakeful dragon's fare.\nShe poppy seeds in honey taught to steep,\nReclaim'd his rage, and sooth'd him into sleep.\nShe watch'd the golden fruit; her charms unbind\nThe chains of love, or fix them on the mind:\nShe stops the torrents, leaves the channel dry,\nRepels the stars, and backward bears the sky.\nThe yawning earth rebellows to her call,\nPale ghosts ascend, and mountain ashes fall.\nWitness, ye gods, and thou my better part,\nHow loth I am to try this impious art!\nWithin the secret court, with silent care,\nErect a lofty pile, expos'd in air:\nHang on the topmost part the Trojan vest,\nSpoils, arms, and presents, of my faithless guest.\nNext, under these, the bridal bed be plac'd,\nWhere I my ruin in his arms embrac'd:\nAll relics of the wretch are doom'd to fire;\nFor so the priestess and her charms require.\"<\/p>\n
Thus far she said, and farther speech forbears;\nA mortal paleness in her face appears:\nYet the mistrustless Anna could not find\nThe secret fun'ral in these rites design'd;\nNor thought so dire a rage possess'd her mind.\nUnknowing of a train conceal'd so well,\nShe fear'd no worse than when Sichaeus fell;\nTherefore obeys. The fatal pile they rear,\nWithin the secret court, expos'd in air.\nThe cloven holms and pines are heap'd on high,\nAnd garlands on the hollow spaces lie.\nSad cypress, vervain, yew, compose the wreath,\nAnd ev'ry baleful green denoting death.\nThe queen, determin'd to the fatal deed,\nThe spoils and sword he left, in order spread,\nAnd the man's image on the nuptial bed.<\/p>\n
And now (the sacred altars plac'd around)\nThe priestess enters, with her hair unbound,\nAnd thrice invokes the pow'rs below the ground.\nNight, Erebus, and Chaos she proclaims,\nAnd threefold Hecate, with her hundred names,\nAnd three Dianas: next, she sprinkles round\nWith feign'd Avernian drops the hallow'd ground;\nCulls hoary simples, found by Phoebe's light,\nWith brazen sickles reap'd at noon of night;\nThen mixes baleful juices in the bowl,\nAnd cuts the forehead of a newborn foal,\nRobbing the mother's love. The destin'd queen\nObserves, assisting at the rites obscene;\nA leaven'd cake in her devoted hands\nShe holds, and next the highest altar stands:\nOne tender foot was shod, her other bare;\nGirt was her gather'd gown, and loose her hair.\nThus dress'd, she summon'd, with her dying breath,\nThe heav'ns and planets conscious of her death,\nAnd ev'ry pow'r, if any rules above,\nWho minds, or who revenges, injur'd love.<\/p>\n
\"'T was dead of night, when weary bodies close\nTheir eyes in balmy sleep and soft repose:\nThe winds no longer whisper thro' the woods,\nNor murm'ring tides disturb the gentle floods.\nThe stars in silent order mov'd around;\nAnd Peace, with downy wings, was brooding on the ground\nThe flocks and herds, and party-color'd fowl,\nWhich haunt the woods, or swim the weedy pool,\nStretch'd on the quiet earth, securely lay,\nForgetting the past labors of the day.\nAll else of nature's common gift partake:\nUnhappy Dido was alone awake.\nNor sleep nor ease the furious queen can find;\nSleep fled her eyes, as quiet fled her mind.\nDespair, and rage, and love divide her heart;\nDespair and rage had some, but love the greater part.<\/p>\n
Then thus she said within her secret mind:\n\"What shall I do? what succor can I find?\nBecome a suppliant to Hyarba's pride,\nAnd take my turn, to court and be denied?\nShall I with this ungrateful Trojan go,\nForsake an empire, and attend a foe?\nHimself I refug'd, and his train reliev'd-\n'T is true- but am I sure to be receiv'd?\nCan gratitude in Trojan souls have place!\nLaomedon still lives in all his race!\nThen, shall I seek alone the churlish crew,\nOr with my fleet their flying sails pursue?\nWhat force have I but those whom scarce before\nI drew reluctant from their native shore?\nWill they again embark at my desire,\nOnce more sustain the seas, and quit their second Tyre?\nRather with steel thy guilty breast invade,\nAnd take the fortune thou thyself hast made.\nYour pity, sister, first seduc'd my mind,\nOr seconded too well what I design'd.\nThese dear-bought pleasures had I never known,\nHad I continued free, and still my own;\nAvoiding love, I had not found despair,\nBut shar'd with salvage beasts the common air.\nLike them, a lonely life I might have led,\nNot mourn'd the living, nor disturb'd the dead.\"\nThese thoughts she brooded in her anxious breast.\nOn board, the Trojan found more easy rest.\nResolv'd to sail, in sleep he pass'd the night;\nAnd order'd all things for his early flight.<\/p>\n
To whom once more the winged god appears;\nHis former youthful mien and shape he wears,\nAnd with this new alarm invades his ears:\n\"Sleep'st thou, O goddess-born! and canst thou drown\nThy needful cares, so near a hostile town,\nBeset with foes; nor hear'st the western gales\nInvite thy passage, and inspire thy sails?\nShe harbors in her heart a furious hate,\nAnd thou shalt find the dire effects too late;\nFix'd on revenge, and obstinate to die.\nHaste swiftly hence, while thou hast pow'r to fly.\nThe sea with ships will soon be cover'd o'er,\nAnd blazing firebrands kindle all the shore.\nPrevent her rage, while night obscures the skies,\nAnd sail before the purple morn arise.\nWho knows what hazards thy delay may bring?\nWoman's a various and a changeful thing.\"\nThus Hermes in the dream; then took his flight\nAloft in air unseen, and mix'd with night.<\/p>\n
Twice warn'd by the celestial messenger,\nThe pious prince arose with hasty fear;\nThen rous'd his drowsy train without delay:\n\"Haste to your banks; your crooked anchors weigh,\nAnd spread your flying sails, and stand to sea.\nA god commands: he stood before my sight,\nAnd urg'd us once again to speedy flight.\nO sacred pow'r, what pow'r soe'er thou art,\nTo thy blest orders I resign my heart.\nLead thou the way; protect thy Trojan bands,\nAnd prosper the design thy will commands.\"\nHe said: and, drawing forth his flaming sword,\nHis thund'ring arm divides the many-twisted cord.\nAn emulating zeal inspires his train:\nThey run; they snatch; they rush into the main.\nWith headlong haste they leave the desert shores,\nAnd brush the liquid seas with lab'ring oars.<\/p>\n
Aurora now had left her saffron bed,\nAnd beams of early light the heav'ns o'erspread,\nWhen, from a tow'r, the queen, with wakeful eyes,\nSaw day point upward from the rosy skies.\nShe look'd to seaward; but the sea was void,\nAnd scarce in ken the sailing ships descried.\nStung with despite, and furious with despair,\nShe struck her trembling breast, and tore her hair.\n\"And shall th' ungrateful traitor go,\" she said,\n\"My land forsaken, and my love betray'd?\nShall we not arm? not rush from ev'ry street,\nTo follow, sink, and burn his perjur'd fleet?\nHaste, haul my galleys out! pursue the foe!\nBring flaming brands! set sail, and swiftly row!\nWhat have I said? where am I? Fury turns\nMy brain; and my distemper'd bosom burns.\nThen, when I gave my person and my throne,\nThis hate, this rage, had been more timely shown.\nSee now the promis'd faith, the vaunted name,\nThe pious man, who, rushing thro' the flame,\nPreserv'd his gods, and to the Phrygian shore\nThe burthen of his feeble father bore!\nI should have torn him piecemeal; strow'd in floods\nHis scatter'd limbs, or left expos'd in woods;\nDestroy'd his friends and son; and, from the fire,\nHave set the reeking boy before the sire.\nEvents are doubtful, which on battles wait:\nYet where's the doubt, to souls secure of fate?\nMy Tyrians, at their injur'd queen's command,\nHad toss'd their fires amid the Trojan band;\nAt once extinguish'd all the faithless name;\nAnd I myself, in vengeance of my shame,\nHad fall'n upon the pile, to mend the fun'ral flame.\nThou Sun, who view'st at once the world below;\nThou Juno, guardian of the nuptial vow;\nThou Hecate hearken from thy dark abodes!\nYe Furies, fiends, and violated gods,\nAll pow'rs invok'd with Dido's dying breath,\nAttend her curses and avenge her death!\nIf so the Fates ordain, Jove commands,\nTh' ungrateful wretch should find the Latian lands,\nYet let a race untam'd, and haughty foes,\nHis peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose:\nOppress'd with numbers in th' unequal field,\nHis men discourag'd, and himself expell'd,\nLet him for succor sue from place to place,\nTorn from his subjects, and his son's embrace.\nFirst, let him see his friends in battle slain,\nAnd their untimely fate lament in vain;\nAnd when, at length, the cruel war shall cease,\nOn hard conditions may he buy his peace:\nNor let him then enjoy supreme command;\nBut fall, untimely, by some hostile hand,\nAnd lie unburied on the barren sand!\nThese are my pray'rs, and this my dying will;\nAnd you, my Tyrians, ev'ry curse fulfil.\nPerpetual hate and mortal wars proclaim,\nAgainst the prince, the people, and the name.\nThese grateful off'rings on my grave bestow;\nNor league, nor love, the hostile nations know!\nNow, and from hence, in ev'ry future age,\nWhen rage excites your arms, and strength supplies the rage\nRise some avenger of our Libyan blood,\nWith fire and sword pursue the perjur'd brood;\nOur arms, our seas, our shores, oppos'd to theirs;\nAnd the same hate descend on all our heirs!\"<\/p>\n
This said, within her anxious mind she weighs\nThe means of cutting short her odious days.\nThen to Sichaeus' nurse she briefly said\n(For, when she left her country, hers was dead):\n\"Go, Barce, call my sister. Let her care\nThe solemn rites of sacrifice prepare;\nThe sheep, and all th' atoning off'rings bring,\nSprinkling her body from the crystal spring\nWith living drops; then let her come, and thou\nWith sacred fillets bind thy hoary brow.\nThus will I pay my vows to Stygian Jove,\nAnd end the cares of my disastrous love;\nThen cast the Trojan image on the fire,\nAnd, as that burns, my passions shall expire.\"<\/p>\n
The nurse moves onward, with officious care,\nAnd all the speed her aged limbs can bear.\nBut furious Dido, with dark thoughts involv'd,\nShook at the mighty mischief she resolv'd.\nWith livid spots distinguish'd was her face;\nRed were her rolling eyes, and discompos'd her pace;\nGhastly she gaz'd, with pain she drew her breath,\nAnd nature shiver'd at approaching death.<\/p>\n
Then swiftly to the fatal place she pass'd,\nAnd mounts the fun'ral pile with furious haste;\nUnsheathes the sword the Trojan left behind\n(Not for so dire an enterprise design'd).\nBut when she view'd the garments loosely spread,\nWhich once he wore, and saw the conscious bed,\nShe paus'd, and with a sigh the robes embrac'd;\nThen on the couch her trembling body cast,\nRepress'd the ready tears, and spoke her last:\n\"Dear pledges of my love, while Heav'n so pleas'd,\nReceive a soul, of mortal anguish eas'd:\nMy fatal course is finish'd; and I go,\nA glorious name, among the ghosts below.\nA lofty city by my hands is rais'd,\nPygmalion punish'd, and my lord appeas'd.\nWhat could my fortune have afforded more,\nHad the false Trojan never touch'd my shore!\"\nThen kiss'd the couch; and, \"Must I die,\" she said,\n\"And unreveng'd? 'T is doubly to be dead!\nYet ev'n this death with pleasure I receive:\nOn any terms, 't is better than to live.\nThese flames, from far, may the false Trojan view;\nThese boding omens his base flight pursue!\"<\/p>\n
She said, and struck; deep enter'd in her side\nThe piercing steel, with reeking purple dyed:\nClogg'd in the wound the cruel weapon stands;\nThe spouting blood came streaming on her hands.\nHer sad attendants saw the deadly stroke,\nAnd with loud cries the sounding palace shook.\nDistracted, from the fatal sight they fled,\nAnd thro' the town the dismal rumor spread.\nFirst from the frighted court the yell began;\nRedoubled, thence from house to house it ran:\nThe groans of men, with shrieks, laments, and cries\nOf mixing women, mount the vaulted skies.\nNot less the clamor, than if- ancient Tyre,\nOr the new Carthage, set by foes on fire-\nThe rolling ruin, with their lov'd abodes,\nInvolv'd the blazing temples of their gods.<\/p>\n
Her sister hears; and, furious with despair,\nShe beats her breast, and rends her yellow hair,\nAnd, calling on Eliza's name aloud,\nRuns breathless to the place, and breaks the crowd.\n\"Was all that pomp of woe for this prepar'd;\nThese fires, this fun'ral pile, these altars rear'd?\nWas all this train of plots contriv'd,\" said she,\n\"All only to deceive unhappy me?\nWhich is the worst? Didst thou in death pretend\nTo scorn thy sister, or delude thy friend?\nThy summon'd sister, and thy friend, had come;\nOne sword had serv'd us both, one common tomb:\nWas I to raise the pile, the pow'rs invoke,\nNot to be present at the fatal stroke?\nAt once thou hast destroy'd thyself and me,\nThy town, thy senate, and thy colony!\nBring water; bathe the wound; while I in death\nLay close my lips to hers, and catch the flying breath.\"\nThis said, she mounts the pile with eager haste,\nAnd in her arms the gasping queen embrac'd;\nHer temples chaf'd; and her own garments tore,\nTo stanch the streaming blood, and cleanse the gore.\nThrice Dido tried to raise her drooping head,\nAnd, fainting thrice, fell grov'ling on the bed;\nThrice op'd her heavy eyes, and sought the light,\nBut, having found it, sicken'd at the sight,\nAnd clos'd her lids at last in endless night.<\/p>\n
Then Juno, grieving that she should sustain\nA death so ling'ring, and so full of pain,\nSent Iris down, to free her from the strife\nOf lab'ring nature, and dissolve her life.\nFor since she died, not doom'd by Heav'n's decree,\nOr her own crime, but human casualty,\nAnd rage of love, that plung'd her in despair,\nThe Sisters had not cut the topmost hair,\nWhich Proserpine and they can only know;\nNor made her sacred to the shades below.\nDownward the various goddess took her flight,\nAnd drew a thousand colors from the light;\nThen stood above the dying lover's head,\nAnd said: \"I thus devote thee to the dead.\nThis off'ring to th' infernal gods I bear.\"\nThus while she spoke, she cut the fatal hair:\nThe struggling soul was loos'd, and life dissolv'd in air.<\/p>","rendered":"
But anxious cares already seiz’d the queen:
\nShe fed within her veins a flame unseen;
\nThe hero’s valor, acts, and birth inspire
\nHer soul with love, and fan the secret fire.
\nHis words, his looks, imprinted in her heart,
\nImprove the passion, and increase the smart.
\nNow, when the purple morn had chas’d away
\nThe dewy shadows, and restor’d the day,
\nHer sister first with early care she sought,
\nAnd thus in mournful accents eas’d her thought:<\/p>\n
“My dearest Anna, what new dreams affright
\nMy lab’ring soul! what visions of the night
\nDisturb my quiet, and distract my breast
\nWith strange ideas of our Trojan guest!
\nHis worth, his actions, and majestic air,
\nA man descended from the gods declare.
\nFear ever argues a degenerate kind;
\nHis birth is well asserted by his mind.
\nThen, what he suffer’d, when by Fate betray’d!
\nWhat brave attempts for falling Troy he made!
\nSuch were his looks, so gracefully he spoke,
\nThat, were I not resolv’d against the yoke
\nOf hapless marriage, never to be curst
\nWith second love, so fatal was my first,
\nTo this one error I might yield again;
\nFor, since Sichaeus was untimely slain,
\nThis only man is able to subvert
\nThe fix’d foundations of my stubborn heart.
\nAnd, to confess my frailty, to my shame,
\nSomewhat I find within, if not the same,
\nToo like the sparkles of my former flame.
\nBut first let yawning earth a passage rend,
\nAnd let me thro’ the dark abyss descend;
\nFirst let avenging Jove, with flames from high,
\nDrive down this body to the nether sky,
\nCondemn’d with ghosts in endless night to lie,
\nBefore I break the plighted faith I gave!
\nNo! he who had my vows shall ever have;
\nFor, whom I lov’d on earth, I worship in the grave.”<\/p>\n
She said: the tears ran gushing from her eyes,
\nAnd stopp’d her speech. Her sister thus replies:
\n“O dearer than the vital air I breathe,
\nWill you to grief your blooming years bequeath,
\nCondemn’d to waste in woes your lonely life,
\nWithout the joys of mother or of wife?
\nThink you these tears, this pompous train of woe,
\nAre known or valued by the ghosts below?
\nI grant that, while your sorrows yet were green,
\nIt well became a woman, and a queen,
\nThe vows of Tyrian princes to neglect,
\nTo scorn Hyarbas, and his love reject,
\nWith all the Libyan lords of mighty name;
\nBut will you fight against a pleasing flame!
\nThis little spot of land, which Heav’n bestows,
\nOn ev’ry side is hemm’d with warlike foes;
\nGaetulian cities here are spread around,
\nAnd fierce Numidians there your frontiers bound;
\nHere lies a barren waste of thirsty land,
\nAnd there the Syrtes raise the moving sand;
\nBarcaean troops besiege the narrow shore,
\nAnd from the sea Pygmalion threatens more.
\nPropitious Heav’n, and gracious Juno, lead
\nThis wand’ring navy to your needful aid:
\nHow will your empire spread, your city rise,
\nFrom such a union, and with such allies?
\nImplore the favor of the pow’rs above,
\nAnd leave the conduct of the rest to love.
\nContinue still your hospitable way,
\nAnd still invent occasions of their stay,
\nTill storms and winter winds shall cease to threat,
\nAnd planks and oars repair their shatter’d fleet.”<\/p>\n
These words, which from a friend and sister came,
\nWith ease resolv’d the scruples of her fame,
\nAnd added fury to the kindled flame.
\nInspir’d with hope, the project they pursue;
\nOn ev’ry altar sacrifice renew:
\nA chosen ewe of two years old they pay
\nTo Ceres, Bacchus, and the God of Day;
\nPreferring Juno’s pow’r, for Juno ties
\nThe nuptial knot and makes the marriage joys.
\nThe beauteous queen before her altar stands,
\nAnd holds the golden goblet in her hands.
\nA milk-white heifer she with flow’rs adorns,
\nAnd pours the ruddy wine betwixt her horns;
\nAnd, while the priests with pray’r the gods invoke,
\nShe feeds their altars with Sabaean smoke,
\nWith hourly care the sacrifice renews,
\nAnd anxiously the panting entrails views.
\nWhat priestly rites, alas! what pious art,
\nWhat vows avail to cure a bleeding heart!
\nA gentle fire she feeds within her veins,
\nWhere the soft god secure in silence reigns.<\/p>\n
Sick with desire, and seeking him she loves,
\nFrom street to street the raving Dido roves.
\nSo when the watchful shepherd, from the blind,
\nWounds with a random shaft the careless hind,
\nDistracted with her pain she flies the woods,
\nBounds o’er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods,
\nWith fruitless care; for still the fatal dart
\nSticks in her side, and rankles in her heart.
\nAnd now she leads the Trojan chief along
\nThe lofty walls, amidst the busy throng;
\nDisplays her Tyrian wealth, and rising town,
\nWhich love, without his labor, makes his own.
\nThis pomp she shows, to tempt her wand’ring guest;
\nHer falt’ring tongue forbids to speak the rest.
\nWhen day declines, and feasts renew the night,
\nStill on his face she feeds her famish’d sight;
\nShe longs again to hear the prince relate
\nHis own adventures and the Trojan fate.
\nHe tells it o’er and o’er; but still in vain,
\nFor still she begs to hear it once again.
\nThe hearer on the speaker’s mouth depends,
\nAnd thus the tragic story never ends.<\/p>\n
Then, when they part, when Phoebe’s paler light
\nWithdraws, and falling stars to sleep invite,
\nShe last remains, when ev’ry guest is gone,
\nSits on the bed he press’d, and sighs alone;
\nAbsent, her absent hero sees and hears;
\nOr in her bosom young Ascanius bears,
\nAnd seeks the father’s image in the child,
\nIf love by likeness might be so beguil’d.<\/p>\n
Meantime the rising tow’rs are at a stand;
\nNo labors exercise the youthful band,
\nNor use of arts, nor toils of arms they know;
\nThe mole is left unfinish’d to the foe;
\nThe mounds, the works, the walls, neglected lie,
\nShort of their promis’d heighth, that seem’d to threat the sky,<\/p>\n
But when imperial Juno, from above,
\nSaw Dido fetter’d in the chains of love,
\nHot with the venom which her veins inflam’d,
\nAnd by no sense of shame to be reclaim’d,
\nWith soothing words to Venus she begun:
\n“High praises, endless honors, you have won,
\nAnd mighty trophies, with your worthy son!
\nTwo gods a silly woman have undone!
\nNor am I ignorant, you both suspect
\nThis rising city, which my hands erect:
\nBut shall celestial discord never cease?
\n‘T is better ended in a lasting peace.
\nYou stand possess’d of all your soul desir’d:
\nPoor Dido with consuming love is fir’d.
\nYour Trojan with my Tyrian let us join;
\nSo Dido shall be yours, Aeneas mine:
\nOne common kingdom, one united line.
\nEliza shall a Dardan lord obey,
\nAnd lofty Carthage for a dow’r convey.”
\nThen Venus, who her hidden fraud descried,
\nWhich would the scepter of the world misguide
\nTo Libyan shores, thus artfully replied:
\n“Who, but a fool, would wars with Juno choose,
\nAnd such alliance and such gifts refuse,
\nIf Fortune with our joint desires comply?
\nThe doubt is all from Jove and destiny;
\nLest he forbid, with absolute command,
\nTo mix the people in one common land-
\nOr will the Trojan and the Tyrian line
\nIn lasting leagues and sure succession join?
\nBut you, the partner of his bed and throne,
\nMay move his mind; my wishes are your own.”<\/p>\n
“Mine,” said imperial Juno, “be the care;
\nTime urges, now, to perfect this affair:
\nAttend my counsel, and the secret share.
\nWhen next the Sun his rising light displays,
\nAnd gilds the world below with purple rays,
\nThe queen, Aeneas, and the Tyrian court
\nShall to the shady woods, for sylvan game, resort.
\nThere, while the huntsmen pitch their toils around,
\nAnd cheerful horns from side to side resound,
\nA pitchy cloud shall cover all the plain
\nWith hail, and thunder, and tempestuous rain;
\nThe fearful train shall take their speedy flight,
\nDispers’d, and all involv’d in gloomy night;
\nOne cave a grateful shelter shall afford
\nTo the fair princess and the Trojan lord.
\nI will myself the bridal bed prepare,
\nIf you, to bless the nuptials, will be there:
\nSo shall their loves be crown’d with due delights,
\nAnd Hymen shall be present at the rites.”
\nThe Queen of Love consents, and closely smiles
\nAt her vain project, and discover’d wiles.<\/p>\n
The rosy morn was risen from the main,
\nAnd horns and hounds awake the princely train:
\nThey issue early thro’ the city gate,
\nWhere the more wakeful huntsmen ready wait,
\nWith nets, and toils, and darts, beside the force
\nOf Spartan dogs, and swift Massylian horse.
\nThe Tyrian peers and officers of state
\nFor the slow queen in antechambers wait;
\nHer lofty courser, in the court below,
\nWho his majestic rider seems to know,
\nProud of his purple trappings, paws the ground,
\nAnd champs the golden bit, and spreads the foam around.
\nThe queen at length appears; on either hand
\nThe brawny guards in martial order stand.
\nA flow’r’d simar with golden fringe she wore,
\nAnd at her back a golden quiver bore;
\nHer flowing hair a golden caul restrains,
\nA golden clasp the Tyrian robe sustains.
\nThen young Ascanius, with a sprightly grace,
\nLeads on the Trojan youth to view the chase.
\nBut far above the rest in beauty shines
\nThe great Aeneas, the troop he joins;
\nLike fair Apollo, when he leaves the frost
\nOf wint’ry Xanthus, and the Lycian coast,
\nWhen to his native Delos he resorts,
\nOrdains the dances, and renews the sports;
\nWhere painted Scythians, mix’d with Cretan bands,
\nBefore the joyful altars join their hands:
\nHimself, on Cynthus walking, sees below
\nThe merry madness of the sacred show.
\nGreen wreaths of bays his length of hair inclose;
\nA golden fillet binds his awful brows;
\nHis quiver sounds: not less the prince is seen
\nIn manly presence, or in lofty mien.<\/p>\n
Now had they reach’d the hills, and storm’d the seat
\nOf salvage beasts, in dens, their last retreat.
\nThe cry pursues the mountain goats: they bound
\nFrom rock to rock, and keep the craggy ground;
\nQuite otherwise the stags, a trembling train,
\nIn herds unsingled, scour the dusty plain,
\nAnd a long chase in open view maintain.
\nThe glad Ascanius, as his courser guides,
\nSpurs thro’ the vale, and these and those outrides.
\nHis horse’s flanks and sides are forc’d to feel
\nThe clanking lash, and goring of the steel.
\nImpatiently he views the feeble prey,
\nWishing some nobler beast to cross his way,
\nAnd rather would the tusky boar attend,
\nOr see the tawny lion downward bend.<\/p>\n
Meantime, the gath’ring clouds obscure the skies:
\nFrom pole to pole the forky lightning flies;
\nThe rattling thunders roll; and Juno pours
\nA wintry deluge down, and sounding show’rs.
\nThe company, dispers’d, to converts ride,
\nAnd seek the homely cots, or mountain’s hollow side.
\nThe rapid rains, descending from the hills,
\nTo rolling torrents raise the creeping rills.
\nThe queen and prince, as love or fortune guides,
\nOne common cavern in her bosom hides.
\nThen first the trembling earth the signal gave,
\nAnd flashing fires enlighten all the cave;
\nHell from below, and Juno from above,
\nAnd howling nymphs, were conscious of their love.
\nFrom this ill-omen’d hour in time arose
\nDebate and death, and all succeeding woes.<\/p>\n
The queen, whom sense of honor could not move,
\nNo longer made a secret of her love,
\nBut call’d it marriage, by that specious name
\nTo veil the crime and sanctify the shame.<\/p>\n
The loud report thro’ Libyan cities goes.
\nFame, the great ill, from small beginnings grows:
\nSwift from the first; and ev’ry moment brings
\nNew vigor to her flights, new pinions to her wings.
\nSoon grows the pigmy to gigantic size;
\nHer feet on earth, her forehead in the skies.
\nInrag’d against the gods, revengeful Earth
\nProduc’d her last of the Titanian birth.
\nSwift is her walk, more swift her winged haste:
\nA monstrous phantom, horrible and vast.
\nAs many plumes as raise her lofty flight,
\nSo many piercing eyes inlarge her sight;
\nMillions of opening mouths to Fame belong,
\nAnd ev’ry mouth is furnish’d with a tongue,
\nAnd round with list’ning ears the flying plague is hung.
\nShe fills the peaceful universe with cries;
\nNo slumbers ever close her wakeful eyes;
\nBy day, from lofty tow’rs her head she shews,
\nAnd spreads thro’ trembling crowds disastrous news;
\nWith court informers haunts, and royal spies;
\nThings done relates, not done she feigns, and mingles truth with lies.<\/p>\n
Talk is her business, and her chief delight
\nTo tell of prodigies and cause affright.
\nShe fills the people’s ears with Dido’s name,
\nWho, lost to honor and the sense of shame,
\nAdmits into her throne and nuptial bed
\nA wand’ring guest, who from his country fled:
\nWhole days with him she passes in delights,
\nAnd wastes in luxury long winter nights,
\nForgetful of her fame and royal trust,
\nDissolv’d in ease, abandon’d to her lust.<\/p>\n
The goddess widely spreads the loud report,
\nAnd flies at length to King Hyarba’s court.
\nWhen first possess’d with this unwelcome news
\nWhom did he not of men and gods accuse?
\nThis prince, from ravish’d Garamantis born,
\nA hundred temples did with spoils adorn,
\nIn Ammon’s honor, his celestial sire;
\nA hundred altars fed with wakeful fire;
\nAnd, thro’ his vast dominions, priests ordain’d,
\nWhose watchful care these holy rites maintain’d.
\nThe gates and columns were with garlands crown’d,
\nAnd blood of victim beasts enrich’d the ground.<\/p>\n
He, when he heard a fugitive could move
\nThe Tyrian princess, who disdain’d his love,
\nHis breast with fury burn’d, his eyes with fire,
\nMad with despair, impatient with desire;
\nThen on the sacred altars pouring wine,
\nHe thus with pray’rs implor’d his sire divine:
\n“Great Jove! propitious to the Moorish race,
\nWho feast on painted beds, with off’rings grace
\nThy temples, and adore thy pow’r divine
\nWith blood of victims, and with sparkling wine,
\nSeest thou not this? or do we fear in vain
\nThy boasted thunder, and thy thoughtless reign?
\nDo thy broad hands the forky lightnings lance?
\nThine are the bolts, or the blind work of chance?
\nA wand’ring woman builds, within our state,
\nA little town, bought at an easy rate;
\nShe pays me homage, and my grants allow
\nA narrow space of Libyan lands to plow;
\nYet, scorning me, by passion blindly led,
\nAdmits a banish’d Trojan to her bed!
\nAnd now this other Paris, with his train
\nOf conquer’d cowards, must in Afric reign!
\n(Whom, what they are, their looks and garb confess,
\nTheir locks with oil perfum’d, their Lydian dress.)
\nHe takes the spoil, enjoys the princely dame;
\nAnd I, rejected I, adore an empty name.”<\/p>\n
His vows, in haughty terms, he thus preferr’d,
\nAnd held his altar’s horns. The mighty Thund’rer heard;
\nThen cast his eyes on Carthage, where he found
\nThe lustful pair in lawless pleasure drown’d,
\nLost in their loves, insensible of shame,
\nAnd both forgetful of their better fame.
\nHe calls Cyllenius, and the god attends,
\nBy whom his menacing command he sends:
\n“Go, mount the western winds, and cleave the sky;
\nThen, with a swift descent, to Carthage fly:
\nThere find the Trojan chief, who wastes his days
\nIn slothful riot and inglorious ease,
\nNor minds the future city, giv’n by fate.
\nTo him this message from my mouth relate:
\n‘Not so fair Venus hop’d, when twice she won
\nThy life with pray’rs, nor promis’d such a son.
\nHers was a hero, destin’d to command
\nA martial race, and rule the Latian land,
\nWho should his ancient line from Teucer draw,
\nAnd on the conquer’d world impose the law.’
\nIf glory cannot move a mind so mean,
\nNor future praise from fading pleasure wean,
\nYet why should he defraud his son of fame,
\nAnd grudge the Romans their immortal name!
\nWhat are his vain designs! what hopes he more
\nFrom his long ling’ring on a hostile shore,
\nRegardless to redeem his honor lost,
\nAnd for his race to gain th’ Ausonian coast!
\nBid him with speed the Tyrian court forsake;
\nWith this command the slumb’ring warrior wake.”<\/p>\n
Hermes obeys; with golden pinions binds
\nHis flying feet, and mounts the western winds:
\nAnd, whether o’er the seas or earth he flies,
\nWith rapid force they bear him down the skies.
\nBut first he grasps within his awful hand
\nThe mark of sov’reign pow’r, his magic wand;
\nWith this he draws the ghosts from hollow graves;
\nWith this he drives them down the Stygian waves;
\nWith this he seals in sleep the wakeful sight,
\nAnd eyes, tho’ clos’d in death, restores to light.
\nThus arm’d, the god begins his airy race,
\nAnd drives the racking clouds along the liquid space;
\nNow sees the tops of Atlas, as he flies,
\nWhose brawny back supports the starry skies;
\nAtlas, whose head, with piny forests crown’d,
\nIs beaten by the winds, with foggy vapors bound.
\nSnows hide his shoulders; from beneath his chin
\nThe founts of rolling streams their race begin;
\nA beard of ice on his large breast depends.
\nHere, pois’d upon his wings, the god descends:
\nThen, rested thus, he from the tow’ring height
\nPlung’d downward, with precipitated flight,
\nLights on the seas, and skims along the flood.
\nAs waterfowl, who seek their fishy food,
\nLess, and yet less, to distant prospect show;
\nBy turns they dance aloft, and dive below:
\nLike these, the steerage of his wings he plies,
\nAnd near the surface of the water flies,
\nTill, having pass’d the seas, and cross’d the sands,
\nHe clos’d his wings, and stoop’d on Libyan lands:
\nWhere shepherds once were hous’d in homely sheds,
\nNow tow’rs within the clouds advance their heads.
\nArriving there, he found the Trojan prince
\nNew ramparts raising for the town’s defense.
\nA purple scarf, with gold embroider’d o’er,
\n(Queen Dido’s gift,) about his waist he wore;
\nA sword, with glitt’ring gems diversified,
\nFor ornament, not use, hung idly by his side.<\/p>\n
Then thus, with winged words, the god began,
\nResuming his own shape: “Degenerate man,
\nThou woman’s property, what mak’st thou here,
\nThese foreign walls and Tyrian tow’rs to rear,
\nForgetful of thy own? All-pow’rful Jove,
\nWho sways the world below and heav’n above,
\nHas sent me down with this severe command:
\nWhat means thy ling’ring in the Libyan land?
\nIf glory cannot move a mind so mean,
\nNor future praise from flitting pleasure wean,
\nRegard the fortunes of thy rising heir:
\nThe promis’d crown let young Ascanius wear,
\nTo whom th’ Ausonian scepter, and the state
\nOf Rome’s imperial name is ow’d by fate.”
\nSo spoke the god; and, speaking, took his flight,
\nInvolv’d in clouds, and vanish’d out of sight.<\/p>\n
The pious prince was seiz’d with sudden fear;
\nMute was his tongue, and upright stood his hair.
\nRevolving in his mind the stern command,
\nHe longs to fly, and loathes the charming land.
\nWhat should he say? or how should he begin?
\nWhat course, alas! remains to steer between
\nTh’ offended lover and the pow’rful queen?
\nThis way and that he turns his anxious mind,
\nAnd all expedients tries, and none can find.
\nFix’d on the deed, but doubtful of the means,
\nAfter long thought, to this advice he leans:
\nThree chiefs he calls, commands them to repair
\nThe fleet, and ship their men with silent care;
\nSome plausible pretense he bids them find,
\nTo color what in secret he design’d.
\nHimself, meantime, the softest hours would choose,
\nBefore the love-sick lady heard the news;
\nAnd move her tender mind, by slow degrees,
\nTo suffer what the sov’reign pow’r decrees:
\nJove will inspire him, when, and what to say.
\nThey hear with pleasure, and with haste obey.<\/p>\n
But soon the queen perceives the thin disguise:
\n(What arts can blind a jealous woman’s eyes!)
\nShe was the first to find the secret fraud,
\nBefore the fatal news was blaz’d abroad.
\nLove the first motions of the lover hears,
\nQuick to presage, and ev’n in safety fears.
\nNor impious Fame was wanting to report
\nThe ships repair’d, the Trojans’ thick resort,
\nAnd purpose to forsake the Tyrian court.
\nFrantic with fear, impatient of the wound,
\nAnd impotent of mind, she roves the city round.
\nLess wild the Bacchanalian dames appear,
\nWhen, from afar, their nightly god they hear,
\nAnd howl about the hills, and shake the wreathy spear.
\nAt length she finds the dear perfidious man;
\nPrevents his form’d excuse, and thus began:
\n“Base and ungrateful! could you hope to fly,
\nAnd undiscover’d scape a lover’s eye?
\nNor could my kindness your compassion move.
\nNor plighted vows, nor dearer bands of love?
\nOr is the death of a despairing queen
\nNot worth preventing, tho’ too well foreseen?
\nEv’n when the wintry winds command your stay,
\nYou dare the tempests, and defy the sea.
\nFalse as you are, suppose you were not bound
\nTo lands unknown, and foreign coasts to sound;
\nWere Troy restor’d, and Priam’s happy reign,
\nNow durst you tempt, for Troy, the raging main?
\nSee whom you fly! am I the foe you shun?
\nNow, by those holy vows, so late begun,
\nBy this right hand, (since I have nothing more
\nTo challenge, but the faith you gave before;)
\nI beg you by these tears too truly shed,
\nBy the new pleasures of our nuptial bed;
\nIf ever Dido, when you most were kind,
\nWere pleasing in your eyes, or touch’d your mind;
\nBy these my pray’rs, if pray’rs may yet have place,
\nPity the fortunes of a falling race.
\nFor you I have provok’d a tyrant’s hate,
\nIncens’d the Libyan and the Tyrian state;
\nFor you alone I suffer in my fame,
\nBereft of honor, and expos’d to shame.
\nWhom have I now to trust, ungrateful guest?
\n(That only name remains of all the rest!)
\nWhat have I left? or whither can I fly?
\nMust I attend Pygmalion’s cruelty,
\nOr till Hyarba shall in triumph lead
\nA queen that proudly scorn’d his proffer’d bed?
\nHad you deferr’d, at least, your hasty flight,
\nAnd left behind some pledge of our delight,
\nSome babe to bless the mother’s mournful sight,
\nSome young Aeneas, to supply your place,
\nWhose features might express his father’s face;
\nI should not then complain to live bereft
\nOf all my husband, or be wholly left.”<\/p>\n
Here paus’d the queen. Unmov’d he holds his eyes,
\nBy Jove’s command; nor suffer’d love to rise,
\nTho’ heaving in his heart; and thus at length replies:
\n“Fair queen, you never can enough repeat
\nYour boundless favors, or I own my debt;
\nNor can my mind forget Eliza’s name,
\nWhile vital breath inspires this mortal frame.
\nThis only let me speak in my defense:
\nI never hop’d a secret flight from hence,
\nMuch less pretended to the lawful claim
\nOf sacred nuptials, or a husband’s name.
\nFor, if indulgent Heav’n would leave me free,
\nAnd not submit my life to fate’s decree,
\nMy choice would lead me to the Trojan shore,
\nThose relics to review, their dust adore,
\nAnd Priam’s ruin’d palace to restore.
\nBut now the Delphian oracle commands,
\nAnd fate invites me to the Latian lands.
\nThat is the promis’d place to which I steer,
\nAnd all my vows are terminated there.
\nIf you, a Tyrian, and a stranger born,
\nWith walls and tow’rs a Libyan town adorn,
\nWhy may not we- like you, a foreign race-
\nLike you, seek shelter in a foreign place?
\nAs often as the night obscures the skies
\nWith humid shades, or twinkling stars arise,
\nAnchises’ angry ghost in dreams appears,
\nChides my delay, and fills my soul with fears;
\nAnd young Ascanius justly may complain
\nOf his defrauded and destin’d reign.
\nEv’n now the herald of the gods appear’d:
\nWaking I saw him, and his message heard.
\nFrom Jove he came commission’d, heav’nly bright
\nWith radiant beams, and manifest to sight
\n(The sender and the sent I both attest)
\nThese walls he enter’d, and those words express’d.
\nFair queen, oppose not what the gods command;
\nForc’d by my fate, I leave your happy land.”<\/p>\n
Thus while he spoke, already she began,
\nWith sparkling eyes, to view the guilty man;
\nFrom head to foot survey’d his person o’er,
\nNor longer these outrageous threats forebore:
\n“False as thou art, and, more than false, forsworn!
\nNot sprung from noble blood, nor goddess-born,
\nBut hewn from harden’d entrails of a rock!
\nAnd rough Hyrcanian tigers gave thee suck!
\nWhy should I fawn? what have I worse to fear?
\nDid he once look, or lent a list’ning ear,
\nSigh’d when I sobb’d, or shed one kindly tear?-
\nAll symptoms of a base ungrateful mind,
\nSo foul, that, which is worse, ’tis hard to find.
\nOf man’s injustice why should I complain?
\nThe gods, and Jove himself, behold in vain
\nTriumphant treason; yet no thunder flies,
\nNor Juno views my wrongs with equal eyes;
\nFaithless is earth, and faithless are the skies!
\nJustice is fled, and Truth is now no more!
\nI sav’d the shipwrack’d exile on my shore;
\nWith needful food his hungry Trojans fed;
\nI took the traitor to my throne and bed:
\nFool that I was- ‘t is little to repeat
\nThe rest- I stor’d and rigg’d his ruin’d fleet.
\nI rave, I rave! A god’s command he pleads,
\nAnd makes Heav’n accessary to his deeds.
\nNow Lycian lots, and now the Delian god,
\nNow Hermes is employ’d from Jove’s abode,
\nTo warn him hence; as if the peaceful state
\nOf heav’nly pow’rs were touch’d with human fate!
\nBut go! thy flight no longer I detain-
\nGo seek thy promis’d kingdom thro’ the main!
\nYet, if the heav’ns will hear my pious vow,
\nThe faithless waves, not half so false as thou,
\nOr secret sands, shall sepulchers afford
\nTo thy proud vessels, and their perjur’d lord.
\nThen shalt thou call on injur’d Dido’s name:
\nDido shall come in a black sulph’ry flame,
\nWhen death has once dissolv’d her mortal frame;
\nShall smile to see the traitor vainly weep:
\nHer angry ghost, arising from the deep,
\nShall haunt thee waking, and disturb thy sleep.
\nAt least my shade thy punishment shall know,
\nAnd Fame shall spread the pleasing news below.”<\/p>\n
Abruptly here she stops; then turns away
\nHer loathing eyes, and shuns the sight of day.
\nAmaz’d he stood, revolving in his mind
\nWhat speech to frame, and what excuse to find.
\nHer fearful maids their fainting mistress led,
\nAnd softly laid her on her ivory bed.<\/p>\n
But good Aeneas, tho’ he much desir’d
\nTo give that pity which her grief requir’d;
\nTho’ much he mourn’d, and labor’d with his love,
\nResolv’d at length, obeys the will of Jove;
\nReviews his forces: they with early care
\nUnmoor their vessels, and for sea prepare.
\nThe fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride,
\nAnd well-calk’d galleys in the harbor ride.
\nThen oaks for oars they fell’d; or, as they stood,
\nOf its green arms despoil’d the growing wood,
\nStudious of flight. The beach is cover’d o’er
\nWith Trojan bands, that blacken all the shore:
\nOn ev’ry side are seen, descending down,
\nThick swarms of soldiers, loaden from the town.
\nThus, in battalia, march embodied ants,
\nFearful of winter, and of future wants,
\nT’ invade the corn, and to their cells convey
\nThe plunder’d forage of their yellow prey.
\nThe sable troops, along the narrow tracks,
\nScarce bear the weighty burthen on their backs:
\nSome set their shoulders to the pond’rous grain;
\nSome guard the spoil; some lash the lagging train;
\nAll ply their sev’ral tasks, and equal toil sustain.<\/p>\n
What pangs the tender breast of Dido tore,
\nWhen, from the tow’r, she saw the cover’d shore,
\nAnd heard the shouts of sailors from afar,
\nMix’d with the murmurs of the wat’ry war!
\nAll-pow’rful Love! what changes canst thou cause
\nIn human hearts, subjected to thy laws!
\nOnce more her haughty soul the tyrant bends:
\nTo pray’rs and mean submissions she descends.
\nNo female arts or aids she left untried,
\nNor counsels unexplor’d, before she died.
\n“Look, Anna! look! the Trojans crowd to sea;
\nThey spread their canvas, and their anchors weigh.
\nThe shouting crew their ships with garlands bind,
\nInvoke the sea gods, and invite the wind.
\nCould I have thought this threat’ning blow so near,
\nMy tender soul had been forewarn’d to bear.
\nBut do not you my last request deny;
\nWith yon perfidious man your int’rest try,
\nAnd bring me news, if I must live or die.
\nYou are his fav’rite; you alone can find
\nThe dark recesses of his inmost mind:
\nIn all his trusted secrets you have part,
\nAnd know the soft approaches to his heart.
\nHaste then, and humbly seek my haughty foe;
\nTell him, I did not with the Grecians go,
\nNor did my fleet against his friends employ,
\nNor swore the ruin of unhappy Troy,
\nNor mov’d with hands profane his father’s dust:
\nWhy should he then reject a suit so just!
\nWhom does he shun, and whither would he fly!
\nCan he this last, this only pray’r deny!
\nLet him at least his dang’rous flight delay,
\nWait better winds, and hope a calmer sea.
\nThe nuptials he disclaims I urge no more:
\nLet him pursue the promis’d Latian shore.
\nA short delay is all I ask him now;
\nA pause of grief, an interval from woe,
\nTill my soft soul be temper’d to sustain
\nAccustom’d sorrows, and inur’d to pain.
\nIf you in pity grant this one request,
\nMy death shall glut the hatred of his breast.”
\nThis mournful message pious Anna bears,
\nAnd seconds with her own her sister’s tears:
\nBut all her arts are still employ’d in vain;
\nAgain she comes, and is refus’d again.
\nHis harden’d heart nor pray’rs nor threat’nings move;
\nFate, and the god, had stopp’d his ears to love.<\/p>\n
As, when the winds their airy quarrel try,
\nJustling from ev’ry quarter of the sky,
\nThis way and that the mountain oak they bend,
\nHis boughs they shatter, and his branches rend;
\nWith leaves and falling mast they spread the ground;
\nThe hollow valleys echo to the sound:
\nUnmov’d, the royal plant their fury mocks,
\nOr, shaken, clings more closely to the rocks;
\nFar as he shoots his tow’ring head on high,
\nSo deep in earth his fix’d foundations lie.
\nNo less a storm the Trojan hero bears;
\nThick messages and loud complaints he hears,
\nAnd bandied words, still beating on his ears.
\nSighs, groans, and tears proclaim his inward pains;
\nBut the firm purpose of his heart remains.<\/p>\n
The wretched queen, pursued by cruel fate,
\nBegins at length the light of heav’n to hate,
\nAnd loathes to live. Then dire portents she sees,
\nTo hasten on the death her soul decrees:
\nStrange to relate! for when, before the shrine,
\nShe pours in sacrifice the purple wine,
\nThe purple wine is turn’d to putrid blood,
\nAnd the white offer’d milk converts to mud.
\nThis dire presage, to her alone reveal’d,
\nFrom all, and ev’n her sister, she conceal’d.
\nA marble temple stood within the grove,
\nSacred to death, and to her murther’d love;
\nThat honor’d chapel she had hung around
\nWith snowy fleeces, and with garlands crown’d:
\nOft, when she visited this lonely dome,
\nStrange voices issued from her husband’s tomb;
\nShe thought she heard him summon her away,
\nInvite her to his grave, and chide her stay.
\nHourly ‘t is heard, when with a boding note
\nThe solitary screech owl strains her throat,
\nAnd, on a chimney’s top, or turret’s height,
\nWith songs obscene disturbs the silence of the night.
\nBesides, old prophecies augment her fears;
\nAnd stern Aeneas in her dreams appears,
\nDisdainful as by day: she seems, alone,
\nTo wander in her sleep, thro’ ways unknown,
\nGuideless and dark; or, in a desart plain,
\nTo seek her subjects, and to seek in vain:
\nLike Pentheus, when, distracted with his fear,
\nHe saw two suns, and double Thebes, appear;
\nOr mad Orestes, when his mother’s ghost
\nFull in his face infernal torches toss’d,
\nAnd shook her snaky locks: he shuns the sight,
\nFlies o’er the stage, surpris’d with mortal fright;
\nThe Furies guard the door and intercept his flight.<\/p>\n
Now, sinking underneath a load of grief,
\nFrom death alone she seeks her last relief;
\nThe time and means resolv’d within her breast,
\nShe to her mournful sister thus address’d
\n(Dissembling hope, her cloudy front she clears,
\nAnd a false vigor in her eyes appears):
\n“Rejoice!” she said. “Instructed from above,
\nMy lover I shall gain, or lose my love.
\nNigh rising Atlas, next the falling sun,
\nLong tracts of Ethiopian climates run:
\nThere a Massylian priestess I have found,
\nHonor’d for age, for magic arts renown’d:
\nTh’ Hesperian temple was her trusted care;
\n‘T was she supplied the wakeful dragon’s fare.
\nShe poppy seeds in honey taught to steep,
\nReclaim’d his rage, and sooth’d him into sleep.
\nShe watch’d the golden fruit; her charms unbind
\nThe chains of love, or fix them on the mind:
\nShe stops the torrents, leaves the channel dry,
\nRepels the stars, and backward bears the sky.
\nThe yawning earth rebellows to her call,
\nPale ghosts ascend, and mountain ashes fall.
\nWitness, ye gods, and thou my better part,
\nHow loth I am to try this impious art!
\nWithin the secret court, with silent care,
\nErect a lofty pile, expos’d in air:
\nHang on the topmost part the Trojan vest,
\nSpoils, arms, and presents, of my faithless guest.
\nNext, under these, the bridal bed be plac’d,
\nWhere I my ruin in his arms embrac’d:
\nAll relics of the wretch are doom’d to fire;
\nFor so the priestess and her charms require.”<\/p>\n
Thus far she said, and farther speech forbears;
\nA mortal paleness in her face appears:
\nYet the mistrustless Anna could not find
\nThe secret fun’ral in these rites design’d;
\nNor thought so dire a rage possess’d her mind.
\nUnknowing of a train conceal’d so well,
\nShe fear’d no worse than when Sichaeus fell;
\nTherefore obeys. The fatal pile they rear,
\nWithin the secret court, expos’d in air.
\nThe cloven holms and pines are heap’d on high,
\nAnd garlands on the hollow spaces lie.
\nSad cypress, vervain, yew, compose the wreath,
\nAnd ev’ry baleful green denoting death.
\nThe queen, determin’d to the fatal deed,
\nThe spoils and sword he left, in order spread,
\nAnd the man’s image on the nuptial bed.<\/p>\n
And now (the sacred altars plac’d around)
\nThe priestess enters, with her hair unbound,
\nAnd thrice invokes the pow’rs below the ground.
\nNight, Erebus, and Chaos she proclaims,
\nAnd threefold Hecate, with her hundred names,
\nAnd three Dianas: next, she sprinkles round
\nWith feign’d Avernian drops the hallow’d ground;
\nCulls hoary simples, found by Phoebe’s light,
\nWith brazen sickles reap’d at noon of night;
\nThen mixes baleful juices in the bowl,
\nAnd cuts the forehead of a newborn foal,
\nRobbing the mother’s love. The destin’d queen
\nObserves, assisting at the rites obscene;
\nA leaven’d cake in her devoted hands
\nShe holds, and next the highest altar stands:
\nOne tender foot was shod, her other bare;
\nGirt was her gather’d gown, and loose her hair.
\nThus dress’d, she summon’d, with her dying breath,
\nThe heav’ns and planets conscious of her death,
\nAnd ev’ry pow’r, if any rules above,
\nWho minds, or who revenges, injur’d love.<\/p>\n
“‘T was dead of night, when weary bodies close
\nTheir eyes in balmy sleep and soft repose:
\nThe winds no longer whisper thro’ the woods,
\nNor murm’ring tides disturb the gentle floods.
\nThe stars in silent order mov’d around;
\nAnd Peace, with downy wings, was brooding on the ground
\nThe flocks and herds, and party-color’d fowl,
\nWhich haunt the woods, or swim the weedy pool,
\nStretch’d on the quiet earth, securely lay,
\nForgetting the past labors of the day.
\nAll else of nature’s common gift partake:
\nUnhappy Dido was alone awake.
\nNor sleep nor ease the furious queen can find;
\nSleep fled her eyes, as quiet fled her mind.
\nDespair, and rage, and love divide her heart;
\nDespair and rage had some, but love the greater part.<\/p>\n
Then thus she said within her secret mind:
\n“What shall I do? what succor can I find?
\nBecome a suppliant to Hyarba’s pride,
\nAnd take my turn, to court and be denied?
\nShall I with this ungrateful Trojan go,
\nForsake an empire, and attend a foe?
\nHimself I refug’d, and his train reliev’d-
\n‘T is true- but am I sure to be receiv’d?
\nCan gratitude in Trojan souls have place!
\nLaomedon still lives in all his race!
\nThen, shall I seek alone the churlish crew,
\nOr with my fleet their flying sails pursue?
\nWhat force have I but those whom scarce before
\nI drew reluctant from their native shore?
\nWill they again embark at my desire,
\nOnce more sustain the seas, and quit their second Tyre?
\nRather with steel thy guilty breast invade,
\nAnd take the fortune thou thyself hast made.
\nYour pity, sister, first seduc’d my mind,
\nOr seconded too well what I design’d.
\nThese dear-bought pleasures had I never known,
\nHad I continued free, and still my own;
\nAvoiding love, I had not found despair,
\nBut shar’d with salvage beasts the common air.
\nLike them, a lonely life I might have led,
\nNot mourn’d the living, nor disturb’d the dead.”
\nThese thoughts she brooded in her anxious breast.
\nOn board, the Trojan found more easy rest.
\nResolv’d to sail, in sleep he pass’d the night;
\nAnd order’d all things for his early flight.<\/p>\n
To whom once more the winged god appears;
\nHis former youthful mien and shape he wears,
\nAnd with this new alarm invades his ears:
\n“Sleep’st thou, O goddess-born! and canst thou drown
\nThy needful cares, so near a hostile town,
\nBeset with foes; nor hear’st the western gales
\nInvite thy passage, and inspire thy sails?
\nShe harbors in her heart a furious hate,
\nAnd thou shalt find the dire effects too late;
\nFix’d on revenge, and obstinate to die.
\nHaste swiftly hence, while thou hast pow’r to fly.
\nThe sea with ships will soon be cover’d o’er,
\nAnd blazing firebrands kindle all the shore.
\nPrevent her rage, while night obscures the skies,
\nAnd sail before the purple morn arise.
\nWho knows what hazards thy delay may bring?
\nWoman’s a various and a changeful thing.”
\nThus Hermes in the dream; then took his flight
\nAloft in air unseen, and mix’d with night.<\/p>\n
Twice warn’d by the celestial messenger,
\nThe pious prince arose with hasty fear;
\nThen rous’d his drowsy train without delay:
\n“Haste to your banks; your crooked anchors weigh,
\nAnd spread your flying sails, and stand to sea.
\nA god commands: he stood before my sight,
\nAnd urg’d us once again to speedy flight.
\nO sacred pow’r, what pow’r soe’er thou art,
\nTo thy blest orders I resign my heart.
\nLead thou the way; protect thy Trojan bands,
\nAnd prosper the design thy will commands.”
\nHe said: and, drawing forth his flaming sword,
\nHis thund’ring arm divides the many-twisted cord.
\nAn emulating zeal inspires his train:
\nThey run; they snatch; they rush into the main.
\nWith headlong haste they leave the desert shores,
\nAnd brush the liquid seas with lab’ring oars.<\/p>\n
Aurora now had left her saffron bed,
\nAnd beams of early light the heav’ns o’erspread,
\nWhen, from a tow’r, the queen, with wakeful eyes,
\nSaw day point upward from the rosy skies.
\nShe look’d to seaward; but the sea was void,
\nAnd scarce in ken the sailing ships descried.
\nStung with despite, and furious with despair,
\nShe struck her trembling breast, and tore her hair.
\n“And shall th’ ungrateful traitor go,” she said,
\n“My land forsaken, and my love betray’d?
\nShall we not arm? not rush from ev’ry street,
\nTo follow, sink, and burn his perjur’d fleet?
\nHaste, haul my galleys out! pursue the foe!
\nBring flaming brands! set sail, and swiftly row!
\nWhat have I said? where am I? Fury turns
\nMy brain; and my distemper’d bosom burns.
\nThen, when I gave my person and my throne,
\nThis hate, this rage, had been more timely shown.
\nSee now the promis’d faith, the vaunted name,
\nThe pious man, who, rushing thro’ the flame,
\nPreserv’d his gods, and to the Phrygian shore
\nThe burthen of his feeble father bore!
\nI should have torn him piecemeal; strow’d in floods
\nHis scatter’d limbs, or left expos’d in woods;
\nDestroy’d his friends and son; and, from the fire,
\nHave set the reeking boy before the sire.
\nEvents are doubtful, which on battles wait:
\nYet where’s the doubt, to souls secure of fate?
\nMy Tyrians, at their injur’d queen’s command,
\nHad toss’d their fires amid the Trojan band;
\nAt once extinguish’d all the faithless name;
\nAnd I myself, in vengeance of my shame,
\nHad fall’n upon the pile, to mend the fun’ral flame.
\nThou Sun, who view’st at once the world below;
\nThou Juno, guardian of the nuptial vow;
\nThou Hecate hearken from thy dark abodes!
\nYe Furies, fiends, and violated gods,
\nAll pow’rs invok’d with Dido’s dying breath,
\nAttend her curses and avenge her death!
\nIf so the Fates ordain, Jove commands,
\nTh’ ungrateful wretch should find the Latian lands,
\nYet let a race untam’d, and haughty foes,
\nHis peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose:
\nOppress’d with numbers in th’ unequal field,
\nHis men discourag’d, and himself expell’d,
\nLet him for succor sue from place to place,
\nTorn from his subjects, and his son’s embrace.
\nFirst, let him see his friends in battle slain,
\nAnd their untimely fate lament in vain;
\nAnd when, at length, the cruel war shall cease,
\nOn hard conditions may he buy his peace:
\nNor let him then enjoy supreme command;
\nBut fall, untimely, by some hostile hand,
\nAnd lie unburied on the barren sand!
\nThese are my pray’rs, and this my dying will;
\nAnd you, my Tyrians, ev’ry curse fulfil.
\nPerpetual hate and mortal wars proclaim,
\nAgainst the prince, the people, and the name.
\nThese grateful off’rings on my grave bestow;
\nNor league, nor love, the hostile nations know!
\nNow, and from hence, in ev’ry future age,
\nWhen rage excites your arms, and strength supplies the rage
\nRise some avenger of our Libyan blood,
\nWith fire and sword pursue the perjur’d brood;
\nOur arms, our seas, our shores, oppos’d to theirs;
\nAnd the same hate descend on all our heirs!”<\/p>\n
This said, within her anxious mind she weighs
\nThe means of cutting short her odious days.
\nThen to Sichaeus’ nurse she briefly said
\n(For, when she left her country, hers was dead):
\n“Go, Barce, call my sister. Let her care
\nThe solemn rites of sacrifice prepare;
\nThe sheep, and all th’ atoning off’rings bring,
\nSprinkling her body from the crystal spring
\nWith living drops; then let her come, and thou
\nWith sacred fillets bind thy hoary brow.
\nThus will I pay my vows to Stygian Jove,
\nAnd end the cares of my disastrous love;
\nThen cast the Trojan image on the fire,
\nAnd, as that burns, my passions shall expire.”<\/p>\n
The nurse moves onward, with officious care,
\nAnd all the speed her aged limbs can bear.
\nBut furious Dido, with dark thoughts involv’d,
\nShook at the mighty mischief she resolv’d.
\nWith livid spots distinguish’d was her face;
\nRed were her rolling eyes, and discompos’d her pace;
\nGhastly she gaz’d, with pain she drew her breath,
\nAnd nature shiver’d at approaching death.<\/p>\n
Then swiftly to the fatal place she pass’d,
\nAnd mounts the fun’ral pile with furious haste;
\nUnsheathes the sword the Trojan left behind
\n(Not for so dire an enterprise design’d).
\nBut when she view’d the garments loosely spread,
\nWhich once he wore, and saw the conscious bed,
\nShe paus’d, and with a sigh the robes embrac’d;
\nThen on the couch her trembling body cast,
\nRepress’d the ready tears, and spoke her last:
\n“Dear pledges of my love, while Heav’n so pleas’d,
\nReceive a soul, of mortal anguish eas’d:
\nMy fatal course is finish’d; and I go,
\nA glorious name, among the ghosts below.
\nA lofty city by my hands is rais’d,
\nPygmalion punish’d, and my lord appeas’d.
\nWhat could my fortune have afforded more,
\nHad the false Trojan never touch’d my shore!”
\nThen kiss’d the couch; and, “Must I die,” she said,
\n“And unreveng’d? ‘T is doubly to be dead!
\nYet ev’n this death with pleasure I receive:
\nOn any terms, ‘t is better than to live.
\nThese flames, from far, may the false Trojan view;
\nThese boding omens his base flight pursue!”<\/p>\n
She said, and struck; deep enter’d in her side
\nThe piercing steel, with reeking purple dyed:
\nClogg’d in the wound the cruel weapon stands;
\nThe spouting blood came streaming on her hands.
\nHer sad attendants saw the deadly stroke,
\nAnd with loud cries the sounding palace shook.
\nDistracted, from the fatal sight they fled,
\nAnd thro’ the town the dismal rumor spread.
\nFirst from the frighted court the yell began;
\nRedoubled, thence from house to house it ran:
\nThe groans of men, with shrieks, laments, and cries
\nOf mixing women, mount the vaulted skies.
\nNot less the clamor, than if- ancient Tyre,
\nOr the new Carthage, set by foes on fire-
\nThe rolling ruin, with their lov’d abodes,
\nInvolv’d the blazing temples of their gods.<\/p>\n
Her sister hears; and, furious with despair,
\nShe beats her breast, and rends her yellow hair,
\nAnd, calling on Eliza’s name aloud,
\nRuns breathless to the place, and breaks the crowd.
\n“Was all that pomp of woe for this prepar’d;
\nThese fires, this fun’ral pile, these altars rear’d?
\nWas all this train of plots contriv’d,” said she,
\n“All only to deceive unhappy me?
\nWhich is the worst? Didst thou in death pretend
\nTo scorn thy sister, or delude thy friend?
\nThy summon’d sister, and thy friend, had come;
\nOne sword had serv’d us both, one common tomb:
\nWas I to raise the pile, the pow’rs invoke,
\nNot to be present at the fatal stroke?
\nAt once thou hast destroy’d thyself and me,
\nThy town, thy senate, and thy colony!
\nBring water; bathe the wound; while I in death
\nLay close my lips to hers, and catch the flying breath.”
\nThis said, she mounts the pile with eager haste,
\nAnd in her arms the gasping queen embrac’d;
\nHer temples chaf’d; and her own garments tore,
\nTo stanch the streaming blood, and cleanse the gore.
\nThrice Dido tried to raise her drooping head,
\nAnd, fainting thrice, fell grov’ling on the bed;
\nThrice op’d her heavy eyes, and sought the light,
\nBut, having found it, sicken’d at the sight,
\nAnd clos’d her lids at last in endless night.<\/p>\n
Then Juno, grieving that she should sustain
\nA death so ling’ring, and so full of pain,
\nSent Iris down, to free her from the strife
\nOf lab’ring nature, and dissolve her life.
\nFor since she died, not doom’d by Heav’n’s decree,
\nOr her own crime, but human casualty,
\nAnd rage of love, that plung’d her in despair,
\nThe Sisters had not cut the topmost hair,
\nWhich Proserpine and they can only know;
\nNor made her sacred to the shades below.
\nDownward the various goddess took her flight,
\nAnd drew a thousand colors from the light;
\nThen stood above the dying lover’s head,
\nAnd said: “I thus devote thee to the dead.
\nThis off’ring to th’ infernal gods I bear.”
\nThus while she spoke, she cut the fatal hair:
\nThe struggling soul was loos’d, and life dissolv’d in air.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"menu_order":4,"template":"","meta":{"_candela_citation":"[]","CANDELA_OUTCOMES_GUID":"","pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-114","chapter","type-chapter","status-web-only","hentry"],"part":110,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/114","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/19"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/114\/revisions"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/110"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/114\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=114"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=114"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=114"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=114"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}